therealljidol Three Strikes Morgenmuffel
22-3-6
therealljidol: Three Strikes
Prompt 3: Morgenmuffel
I believe it began around the age of nine or ten, though why I cannot even guess. I went from a fairly normal child with fairly normal concerns and issues to an absolute morgenmuffel. I hated getting up. I hated mornings. I hated everything about mornings.
What I was like at bedtime I don’t recall. But by the time I was in my teens I was a dedicated night owl. I stayed up till the not-so-wee hours of the morning listening to the radio and loved every minute of my “private” time. To be honest, upon reflection, I believe that was a large part of my night owl commitment. I needed (as a profound introvert) time alone just to be able to exist, and in close quarters, in a home with two distinct families, time alone was a luxury for all concerned. So, I found mine by staying up most of the night. Which explains my “morning stuff” for that shared living period of my life.
It does not explain the reason I kept up the whole “do not wake me up!” attitude that continued even when I moved into my own place. Though maybe by that time it was habit and was as routine as the mad rush to make up for all the “snoozes” I’d had before finally getting my butt out of bed, in fact, it might have been a direct consequence of them.
My Morgenmuffelling was not confined to merely awakening in the morning, or whenever, but was something I had to warn hospital staff of if I had to go under general anesthetic. It appears that once a bear, always a bear, and I was actually informed that this was a thing not at all peculiar to me. We who are not morning people come out of anesthesia with as much enthusiasm as we do to the sound of an alarm, or a loving voice telling us to rise and shine. (I’ll give you shine!)
When I was hit with ME/CFS my days became nights and my nights eternal. I had all the privacy I could ask for but realized quite quickly that the illness-imposed exaggeration of my nocturnal habit was excruciatingly restrictive. Being awake at three in the “a” of “m” meant reading or writing or knitting or watching television with headphones because my neighbors were sleeping, so taking care of things like dishes and vacuuming, or even exercising were a definite no. My life disintegrated into an ever-growing pile of rubble and wasted time. This was no longer a luxury I craved, but a painful negative that cramped my already severely limited existence.
Oh, it wasn’t all bad. I learned something new and joyful. I love watching the sunrise. Of course, I was doing it from the other side of the clock. Being up all night I would get to watch the moon set-it does, it really does-and the sun rise. It is as if the sun is chasing the moon across the sky and I suppose it is. And it delights me. It fills me with joy and wonder.
I understand there are a lot of people who feel that way about sunsets. I get it, they’re pretty. And if you’re with someone they can be very romantic. But to me? Not so much. It is the sunrise that leaves me weak in the knees and moved to tears.
A few years back, the restrictiveness of being a night person just wore me down completely. It was no longer a choice or a necessity. It was another symptom of being chronically ill, and the symptom of the symptom was the chaos of my home and life. I needed my mornings back. I needed to be able to get up at a reasonable time and work (as much as possible) during workable hours. I needed, at least in this, to rejoin the human race. This need grew in me and weighed on me. So, I prayed about it. And then, because there was a lot on my mind, and I really didn’t expect to change a habit of a lifetime, I forgot about it.
But then, it happened. I started falling asleep at night and waking and not being able to fall asleep again. I might sleep from one to three, but I’d be up until eleven or twelve the next night. And little by little I got my mornings back. And I loved them! I mean, I really, really loved them.
I got to see the sunrise. I got to get things done. I began to catch up with life-a bit. And I started to feel less out of control.
Honestly, I went from being a dedicated night owl to being a morning person. Can you believe it?
In fact, I am such a morning person now I actually love to beat the sun up in the morning. Wait, let me reword that. I love to get up before the sun does. Talk about feeling powerful. I get to thumb my nose at the sun. Not that I would, but if I felt so inclined I could. It feels so good.
And you know what? I’m not a morgenmuffel anymore.
Now, I still have ME/CFS, so when I crash I’m still sleeping all hours of the day and night, and my schedule can be rocked back into Bats Ville again, in fact, I’m crashing right now, so mornings are a bit of a struggle. Though, now, the struggle is more about mornings being the goal and nocturnal living something to be endured but beaten into submission as soon as possible.
Now, my "muffelling" is about exhaustion, not private time, or habit, or watching the sun come up from the wrong side of the day, but honest cannot-lift-my-arm-to-eat-chocolate exhaustion and it can and will be overcome.
What started my child-self into an upside-down existence is not something I understand, but I’m so grateful that I can, and have, let it go.
Let’s hear it for the morning!
(Written for therealljidol: three strikes, prompt 3: Morgenmuffel.)
therealljidol: Three Strikes
Prompt 3: Morgenmuffel
I believe it began around the age of nine or ten, though why I cannot even guess. I went from a fairly normal child with fairly normal concerns and issues to an absolute morgenmuffel. I hated getting up. I hated mornings. I hated everything about mornings.
What I was like at bedtime I don’t recall. But by the time I was in my teens I was a dedicated night owl. I stayed up till the not-so-wee hours of the morning listening to the radio and loved every minute of my “private” time. To be honest, upon reflection, I believe that was a large part of my night owl commitment. I needed (as a profound introvert) time alone just to be able to exist, and in close quarters, in a home with two distinct families, time alone was a luxury for all concerned. So, I found mine by staying up most of the night. Which explains my “morning stuff” for that shared living period of my life.
It does not explain the reason I kept up the whole “do not wake me up!” attitude that continued even when I moved into my own place. Though maybe by that time it was habit and was as routine as the mad rush to make up for all the “snoozes” I’d had before finally getting my butt out of bed, in fact, it might have been a direct consequence of them.
My Morgenmuffelling was not confined to merely awakening in the morning, or whenever, but was something I had to warn hospital staff of if I had to go under general anesthetic. It appears that once a bear, always a bear, and I was actually informed that this was a thing not at all peculiar to me. We who are not morning people come out of anesthesia with as much enthusiasm as we do to the sound of an alarm, or a loving voice telling us to rise and shine. (I’ll give you shine!)
When I was hit with ME/CFS my days became nights and my nights eternal. I had all the privacy I could ask for but realized quite quickly that the illness-imposed exaggeration of my nocturnal habit was excruciatingly restrictive. Being awake at three in the “a” of “m” meant reading or writing or knitting or watching television with headphones because my neighbors were sleeping, so taking care of things like dishes and vacuuming, or even exercising were a definite no. My life disintegrated into an ever-growing pile of rubble and wasted time. This was no longer a luxury I craved, but a painful negative that cramped my already severely limited existence.
Oh, it wasn’t all bad. I learned something new and joyful. I love watching the sunrise. Of course, I was doing it from the other side of the clock. Being up all night I would get to watch the moon set-it does, it really does-and the sun rise. It is as if the sun is chasing the moon across the sky and I suppose it is. And it delights me. It fills me with joy and wonder.
I understand there are a lot of people who feel that way about sunsets. I get it, they’re pretty. And if you’re with someone they can be very romantic. But to me? Not so much. It is the sunrise that leaves me weak in the knees and moved to tears.
A few years back, the restrictiveness of being a night person just wore me down completely. It was no longer a choice or a necessity. It was another symptom of being chronically ill, and the symptom of the symptom was the chaos of my home and life. I needed my mornings back. I needed to be able to get up at a reasonable time and work (as much as possible) during workable hours. I needed, at least in this, to rejoin the human race. This need grew in me and weighed on me. So, I prayed about it. And then, because there was a lot on my mind, and I really didn’t expect to change a habit of a lifetime, I forgot about it.
But then, it happened. I started falling asleep at night and waking and not being able to fall asleep again. I might sleep from one to three, but I’d be up until eleven or twelve the next night. And little by little I got my mornings back. And I loved them! I mean, I really, really loved them.
I got to see the sunrise. I got to get things done. I began to catch up with life-a bit. And I started to feel less out of control.
Honestly, I went from being a dedicated night owl to being a morning person. Can you believe it?
In fact, I am such a morning person now I actually love to beat the sun up in the morning. Wait, let me reword that. I love to get up before the sun does. Talk about feeling powerful. I get to thumb my nose at the sun. Not that I would, but if I felt so inclined I could. It feels so good.
And you know what? I’m not a morgenmuffel anymore.
Now, I still have ME/CFS, so when I crash I’m still sleeping all hours of the day and night, and my schedule can be rocked back into Bats Ville again, in fact, I’m crashing right now, so mornings are a bit of a struggle. Though, now, the struggle is more about mornings being the goal and nocturnal living something to be endured but beaten into submission as soon as possible.
Now, my "muffelling" is about exhaustion, not private time, or habit, or watching the sun come up from the wrong side of the day, but honest cannot-lift-my-arm-to-eat-chocolate exhaustion and it can and will be overcome.
What started my child-self into an upside-down existence is not something I understand, but I’m so grateful that I can, and have, let it go.
Let’s hear it for the morning!
(Written for therealljidol: three strikes, prompt 3: Morgenmuffel.)